Before the Coffee Gets Cold
Page 14
Kei didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say anything.
Hirai held the cup. She breathed in and exhaled with a moan, filled with all the painful grief seeping from her heart.
‘I just want to see her face, one more time. But if I do, I won’t be able to return.’
Hirai’s shaking hands brought the cup to her lips. She had to drink up. Tears surged once again from her eyes. A rush of thoughts crossed her mind. Why did this happen? Why did she have to die? Why didn’t I say that I would go home earlier?
The cup stopped a short distance from her lips and didn’t move. After a moment, ‘Ugh. I can’t drink it . . .’
She put the cup down, totally drained of strength. She had no idea what she wanted to do or why she had gone back to the past. All she knew was that she loved her little sister, she was precious to her, and now she was gone.
If I drink this coffee now, I will never see my sister again. Even though I finally made her smile, it will never happen again. Yet she knew she would never be able to drink the coffee with Kumi’s face in front of her.
‘Hirai!’
‘I can’t drink it!’
Kei could see how distressed Hirai was. She bit her lip and looked grave.
‘You just promised . . .’ she said with a trembling voice. ‘You just promised your sister, didn’t you? That you would return to the inn.’
Kumi’s happy elated smile was branded onto the back of her closed eyelids.
‘You said that you would run it alongside her.’
Hirai imagined that Kumi was alive. They were working happily together at the inn.
The sound of that early morning phone call rang in her head. ‘But she . . .’
The image of Kumi lying there as if she was sleeping flashed before her. Kumi was gone.
What was she to do once she returned to the present? Her heart seemed to have lost all desire to return. Kei was crying too, but Hirai had never heard such determination in her voice. ‘That means you have to return. That makes it more important than ever.’
How so?
‘How unhappy would your sister be if she knew that your promise was only made for today? She would be devastated, don’t you think?’
Yes! Kei’s right. Kumi told me it was her dream to work with me, and I promised her. That was the first time I had ever seen Kumi so happy. I can’t act as if that smiling face never happened. I can’t let her down again. I have to return to the present and to Takakura. Even if Kumi is dead, I promised her when she was alive. I have to make sure her happiness was for something.
Hirai grabbed the cup. But . . .
I want to see Kumi’s face one more time. That was her last dilemma.
But waiting to see Kumi’s face would mean not being able to return to the present. This was something that Hirai was all too aware of. Yet even though she knew that she had to just drink up the coffee, the distance between the cup and her mouth remained the same.
Clack.
She faintly heard the sound of the toilet door opening. At the moment she heard that sound, her instincts took over and she downed the coffee – she couldn’t afford to hesitate.
All rational thinking had been put aside. She felt her entire body reacting intuitively. The moment she drank the coffee the dizziness returned and she felt like she was blending into the steam that now surrounded her entire body. She resigned herself to never seeing Kumi ever again. But just then she returned from the toilet.
Kumi!
Amidst the shimmering, part of Hirai’s consciousness was still in the past.
‘Huh? Big Sis?’ Kumi had returned, but she seemed unable to see Hirai. She was looking at that seat, the one Hirai had been sitting in, with a puzzled look on her face.
Kumi!
Hirai’s voice did not reach her.
The now-fading Kumi looked at Kei, who was standing with her back turned behind the counter.
‘Excuse me, I don’t suppose you know where my sister went, do you?’ she asked.
Kei turned round and smiled at her. ‘She had to go suddenly . . .’
On hearing this Kumi looked bereft. It must have been a disappointment. She finally met her sister and then she suddenly left. She had said she would return home, but the reunion was short and sweet. It was only natural that she felt anxious. She sighed and slumped in her chair. Kei saw how she reacted to this news.
‘Don’t worry! Your sister said she would keep her promise,’ she said, winking in the direction of where Hirai, reduced to steam, was watching.
Kei, you’re a saviour! Thank you.
Hirai began crying, touched by Kei’s support.
Kumi stood and was silent for a moment. ‘Really?’ she asked, as a broad smile spread over her face. ‘OK, great! Well I’ll be on my way home then.’ She bowed politely then rose and walked out of the cafe with a spring in her step.
‘Kumi-i!’
Hirai saw everything through shimmering steam. Kumi had smiled when she heard that Hirai would keep her promise.
Everything around Hirai wound from start to finish like a film on fast-forward. She continued to cry. She cried and cried and cried . . .
The woman in the dress had returned from the toilet and was standing next to her. Kazu, Nagare, Kohtake, and Kei were there too. Hirai had returned to the present – the present without Kumi.
The woman in the dress paid no attention to Hirai’s teary eyes. ‘Move!’ she said disgruntledly.
‘Ah. Right,’ Hirai said, jumping up from that seat.
The woman in the dress sat back down in her seat. She pushed away the coffee cup that Hirai had drunk from and began reading her novel as if nothing had happened.
Hirai tried in vain to fix her tear-stained face. She let out a big sigh. ‘I’m not sure they will welcome me back with open arms. And I wouldn’t have a clue how to do the work . . .’ she continued, looking down at Kumi’s final letter in her hands. ‘If I went back like this . . . it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?’
It seemed that Hirai planned to return to Takakura immediately. Leaving the bar and everything else, just going. It was typical of Hirai to decide on something without feeling the need to think things over first. She had made up her mind and her face showed no trace of doubt.
Kei nodded reassuringly.
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ she answered cheerfully. She didn’t ask Hirai what had happened in the past. She didn’t need to. Hirai took out 380 yen from her purse to pay for the coffee. She gave it to Nagare and walked out of the cafe, light on her feet.
CLANG-DONG
Kei had walked out with Hirai to see her off. Now, she rubbed her stomach gently, and whispered, ‘How wonderful was that . . .’
While Nagare was entering the coffee money into the cash register, he looked solemnly at Kei rubbing her stomach in that way.
I wonder if she can give it up?
Without Nagare’s expression changing, the bell echoed throughout the cafe.
Clang . . . Dong . . .
IV
Mother and Child
When it appears in haiku, the higurashi cicada is a term denoting the season, associated with autumn. The mention of the higurashi, therefore, evokes an image of it shrilling at the end of summer. In reality, this insect’s cry can be heard from the beginning of summer. Somehow, though, while the shrills of the abura cicada and the min-min cicada evoke the images of a blazing sun, midsummer, and scorching days, the song of the higurashi evokes images of the evening and the late summer. When the sun begins to set and the dusk gathers, the kana-kana-kana of the higurashi evokes a melancholic mood, and one gets the urge to hurry home.
In the city, the shrill of the higurashi is seldom heard. This is because, unlike the abura cicada and the min-min cicada, the higurashi likes shady places such as the canopy of a forest, or of cypress groves away from the sun. But living near our cafe was a single higurashi cicada. When the sun started to set, a continual kana-kana-kana could be heard coming from somewhere, shri
lling fleetingly and weakly. This was sometimes audible in the cafe, though as the cafe was at basement level, you had to strain your ears to hear it – it was that faint.
It was one such August evening. Outside, the abura cicada was loudly shrilling, jee jee jee. The weather office had reported that this day had been the hottest of the year. But in the cafe, it was cool despite the lack of air conditioning. Kazu was reading an email that Hirai had sent to Nagare’s phone.
I have been back at Takakura for two weeks now. There are so many new things to learn. Every day I am nearly reduced to tears, it’s so tough.
‘Oh, she does have it tough . . .’
Listening to Kazu were Kohtake and Nagare. As neither Kazu nor Kei had a phone, it was Nagare’s phone that received all emails sent to the cafe. Kazu didn’t have a phone because she was not very good at maintaining personal relationships, and saw phones and means of communication as nothing more than a nuisance. Kei didn’t have a phone because she cancelled it when she got married. ‘One phone is enough for a married couple,’ she said. In contrast, Hirai had three phones, each for a particular purpose: for customers, for private, and for family. On her family phone, she had saved only her family home number, and her sister Kumi’s number. Although no one from the cafe knew it, now she had added two extra contacts in her phone reserved for family: the cafe and Nagare’s mobile. Kazu continued to read out the email.
Things are still a bit awkward with my parents, but I feel returning home was for the best. I just think that if Kumi’s death had led to unhappiness for both me and my parents, then that unhappiness would have been her only legacy.
So that’s why I intend to lead a life that creates a more wonderful legacy for Kumi’s life. I guess you never thought I could be so serious.
So anyway, I’m happy and well. If you get a chance please come and visit. Although it’s already come and gone this year, I highly recommend the Tanabata Festival. Please send my regards to everyone.
Yaeko Hirai
Nagare, listening at the entrance to the kitchen with his arms folded, narrowed his eyes even more than usual. He was probably smiling – it was always difficult to know when he was smiling.
‘Oh, isn’t that wonderful,’ Kohtake said, smiling happily. She must have been on a break between shifts as she was wearing her nurse’s uniform. ‘Hey, check out the photo,’ Kazu said, showing Kohtake the photo attached to the email. Kohtake took the phone in her hands so that she could get a good look.
‘Wow, she already looks the part . . . for sure,’ she said, with a hint of surprise.
‘Doesn’t she!’ Kazu agreed, smiling.
In the photo, Hirai was standing in front of the inn. With her hair in a bun, she was wearing a pink kimono, indicating her status as the owner of Takakura.
‘She looks happy.’
‘She does.’
Hirai was smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world. She had written that things were still awkward between her and her parents but standing next to her were her father Yasuo and mother Michiko.
‘And Kumi too . . .’ muttered Nagare, peering at the photo from behind.
‘Kumi’s no doubt happy as well.’
‘Yes, I’m sure she is,’ Kohtake said, looking at the photo. Kazu standing beside her also gave a small nod. She no longer had the cool demeanour she had while conducting the ritual for returning to the past. Her face was gentle and kind.
‘By the way,’ Kohtake said as she returned the phone to Kazu. She turned and looked over dubiously to where the woman in the dress was sitting. ‘What’s she doing over there?’
It was not the woman in the dress she was looking at, but Fumiko Kiyokawa, who was sitting on the chair opposite her. It was Fumiko who had travelled back to the past in the cafe that spring. Normally the epitome of a working woman, today must have been her day off as she was dressed casually in a black T-shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves and white leggings. On her feet were cord sandals.
Fumiko had showed no interest in Hirai’s email. Instead, she was staring at the face of the woman in the dress. Just what she wanted was a mystery. Kazu had no idea either.
‘I wonder too,’ was all that Kazu could reply.
Since spring, Fumiko had occasionally visited the cafe. When she did, she sat there opposite the woman in the dress.
Suddenly Fumiko looked at Kazu. ‘Um, excuse me,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘There is something that’s been bothering me.’
‘What is it?’
‘This whole thing, where you get transported through time. Could you visit the future too?’
‘The future?’
‘Yes, the future.’
Hearing Fumiko’s question, Kohtake’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Yes, I’d be interested to know that too.’
‘I know, right?!’ Fumiko agreed.
‘Going back to the past or going to the future are both about being able to travel through time. So I thought maybe it’s possible?’ Fumiko continued.
Kohtake nodded in agreement.
‘So is it possible?’ Fumiko asked with eyes full of expectation and curiosity.
‘Yeah, of course you can go to the future,’ Kazu bluntly replied.
‘Really?’ Fumiko asked. Then in her excitement she accidentally bumped the table, spilling the woman in the dress’s coffee. The woman twitched her eyebrows and in a great panic, Fumiko wiped the spilled coffee with a napkin – she didn’t want to get cursed.
‘Wow!’ Kohtake exclaimed.
Kazu took in both women’s responses. ‘But no one goes,’ she added coolly.
‘What?’ Fumiko asked, taken aback. ‘Why on earth wouldn’t they?’ she demanded, drawing closer to Kazu. Surely she wasn’t the only person to whom the idea of travelling to the future appealed – that’s what she meant to say. Kohtake also looked as if she wanted to know why no one went. Her eyes widened and she looked intently at Kazu. Kazu looked to Nagare and then back at Fumiko.
‘Well, OK . . . If you want to go to the future, how many years forward do you want to go?’
Despite the question apparently having come from nowhere, it seemed that Fumiko had already considered this.
‘Three years from now!’ Fumiko answered immediately, as if she had been waiting to be asked. Her face turned a little red.
‘You want to meet your boyfriend?’ Kazu enquired, apparently unmoved.
‘Well . . . So what if I do?’ She stuck out her jaw as if to defend herself, but her face grew redder.
At that point Nagare interrupted. ‘No need to be embarrassed about it . . .’
‘I’m nothing of the sort!’ she retorted. But Nagare had touched a nerve, and both he and Kohtake were looking at each other, grinning.
Kazu was not in a teasing mood. She was looking at Fumiko with her usual cool expression. Fumiko picked up the seriousness.
‘That’s not possible?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘No, it’s possible . . . It’s not that it’s not possible,’ Kazu continued, in a flat monotone.
‘But?’
‘How can you know that in three years he will visit the cafe?’
Fumiko didn’t appear to understand the point of the question.
‘Don’t you see?’ Kazu asked Fumiko, as if cross-examining her.
‘Oh,’ Fumiko said, finally getting it. Even if she travelled forward in time by three years, how could she possibly be sure that Goro would be in the cafe?
‘That’s the sticking point. What’s happened in the past has happened. You can target that moment and go back there. But . . .’
‘The future is completely unknown!’ Kohtake said, clapping her hands, as if playing on a quiz show.
‘Sure, you can travel to the day you wish to go to, but there is no way of knowing if the person you want to meet is going to be there.’
Judging by Kazu’s nonplussed expression, there must have been lots of other people who had pondered the same thing.
‘So going would just be a waste of time?’ Fumiko muttered with acceptance.
‘Exactly.’
‘I see . . .’
Considering how seemingly superficial her motive was, Fumiko probably should have been more embarrassed. But she was so impressed with the air-tight nature of the cafe’s rules that it did not cross her mind to question Kazu’s response further.
She didn’t say anything but she thought to herself, When you return to the past, you cannot change the present. Going to the future is simply a waste of time. How convenient. I can see why that magazine article described the cafe’s time travel as ‘meaningless’.
But she wasn’t going to avoid embarrassment so easily. Nagare further narrowed his eyes, inquisitively.
‘What did you want to do? Make sure you were married?’ he teased.
‘Nothing of the sort!’
‘Ha! Knew it.’
‘No! I told you it’s not that! . . . Ugh!’
The more she denied it, the deeper the hole Fumiko seemed to be digging herself into.
But unfortunately for her, she wouldn’t have been able to travel to the future anyway. There was one more annoying rule preventing this from occurring: A person who has sat on the chair to travel through time once cannot do it a second time. Each person receives only a single chance.
But I think it would be easier not to tell Fumiko that, Kazu thought, as she observed Fumiko chatting happily. This was not out of consideration for Fumiko, but rather because she would demand a reasonable explanation for such a rule.
I can’t be bothered dealing with that, Kazu thought simply.
CLANG-DONG
‘Hello! Welcome!’
It was Fusagi. He was wearing a navy polo shirt, beige-brown trousers, and setta sandals. A bag hung from his shoulder. It was the hottest day of the year. In his hand, he held not a handkerchief but a small white towel, which he was using to wipe his sweat.